


The Awakened King

by YakFruit



Category: Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-03-16 13:26:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13637169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YakFruit/pseuds/YakFruit
Summary: King Lahmizzash of Khemri died 1,648 years ago.  He is awakened from death to answer the call of an even older king of Khemri, King Settra: King of Kings, King of Nehekhara, King of the Golden Kingdom, and so on and so forth.  But things are not as they should be, and immortality is not as advertised. (revised 3/10/18)





	1. Chapter 1

_From the Tomb of Lahmizzash Yak'reb, North Wall, Burial Chamber, Section 5E_

_"King Lahmizzash would dream an often dream. He would awake in cold sand below a black sky without stars. Standing, he found himself in midnight desert. Impelled, the awakened king would climb a dune. From on high, he would see a glorious sight: a great man, atop a shining pyramid, resplendent in golden light. King Settra! King Settra the Imperishable!"_

Lahmizzash Yak'reb, King of Khemri, opened his eyes. Everything was black. He closed his eyes, felt them close. Blackness remained. He opened them again. Pitch black. Am I blind? Is this night? Am I dead? Scenarios and possibilities rushed through his mind. Is this the Realm of Souls? Am I trapped in the pits? No! I am a great king!

In an attempt to calm himself, he focused on his sense of hearing. But he heard only the echo of silence, roaring louder in his ears as a wave of anxiety surged through him.

Grinding stone cut through the silence, a glow of yellow light burst into Lahmizzash's dark world, a line at first, then widening enough to let light pour into… a stone box? He was inside a stone box. The texture was unmistakable. I was dead. This is my tomb. I'm alive. Settra has returned! His fear vanished into a roar of excitement and joy.

Lahmizzash thrust out with his arms, and the stone lid of his sarcophagus flew, shattering upon the stone floor. His tomb was illuminated by numerous torches held by robed and masked figures. The Mortuary Cult.

One of these stepped forward and bowed. "Lord Yak'reb, we greet you."

A sharp pain of offense shot through Lahmizzash. "King Yak'reb! Know your place." he barked.

The cultist bowed again. "Apologies, my Lord. But Settra is King in Nehekhara."

Lahmizzash paused in shock, a wave of indignation at this outrageous claim, then his mind turned and he remembered his recent joy. If Settra was returned, then naturally Settra would be the king. That was proper and must be accepted. He surveyed the cultists, who remained silent but obviously tense. They were waiting for his reaction.

Lahmizzash nodded sagely, theatrically. The cultists visibly relaxed. "Yes, of course. That is only right. My words were but a habit of time now long past… I assume? What year is it?"

The lead cultist bowed a third time, deeper than before. "One-thousand, six-hundred, and forty-eight years have passed since your tomb was sealed, Lord Yak'reb. I am Nekthop, of the Mortuary Cult. I was commanded by King Settra to awaken you in his service."

"I am honored to receive the command of that great King!" said Lahmizzash. He stood- leapt from his sarcophagus. The simply act of moving and jumping felt odd, as if his body did not quite remember how it was done. "I wish to see his golden kingdom! Long I dreamed of it."

Nekthop swept an arm, indicating they should walk from the tomb, up and out into the world again. The other cultists remained silent and moved out of their way. "Lord Yak'reb; first let me say how joyful I am in your quick acceptance of King Settra's throne. Many of the other kings of Nehekhara found their relative… demotion, unacceptable. There have been difficulties."

The cultists followed them up the grand gallery, silent, their torch light illuminating the finely sculpted and inscribed stones of King Lahmizzash's tomb.

"Hypocrites," said Lahmizzash, "My kingdom was full of them: lesser kings of lesser cities. They claimed to adore Settra. They publicly pined for his golden age, preached of its return, but all of it was demagoguery. Base populism that was aggravatingly effective. It is, was… a bane of my life. So few really believed. Though the White Pyramid stood over them all, proof and plain as day. But I knew the crown of Nehekhara rested on my head only because the glorious Settra still slept." He smiled to himself and unconsciously increased his pace, eager to exit the tomb.

Nekthop strode to match his pace. "The walls of your pyramid speak fervently of your wise reign, your strong authority, your admirable will. We have read them all. Your acceptance of King Settra as your sovereign lord proves the stones of your tomb are carved with truth! But I must warn you, there are a great many other surprises for you to overcome this day."

Lahmizzash stopped in his tracks. "Such as?"

Nekthop's face was indiscernible behind the traditional mask of his cult, but Lahmizzash sensed hesitation hiding there.

"Well? Speak!" he said, his tone of kingly authority in full force.

"Unexpected events occurred while you and King Settra slept. Unfortunate and disastrous events." Nekthop fidgeted under his robes. "The golden kingdom does not yet exist. Indeed, all of Nehekhara is ruin."

"What?!"

"The palaces destroyed. The rivers poisoned. The tombs buried beneath the sands. No man, woman, or child remains. Not even a palm, a date, a camel, or even a blade of grass now lives in the woeful Kingdom of Nehekhara."

Lahmizzash stared at the cultist, disbelief and shock warring within him. Finally he laughed nervously, "You jest, surely."

Nekthop shook his head slowly. "No, I do not jest. It is true and you shall soon see for yourself. But that is not the worst of it, Lord Yak'reb."

"Not the worst?"

Nekthop lifted his hands to his hood. "We are awakened, but we do not live. The Mortuary Cult's long quest for eternal life was successful, but… see for yourself." He pulled down his mask. He had the face of a corpse; boney sockets stared from a tattered, linen wrapped head.

Horror shot up Lahmizzash's throat, but he held it down, a pressure in his gut. He willed himself still, he wired his own mouth shut. The dead thing called Nekthop turned to the following hooded cultists, raising its arm to them.

"No," Lahmizzash gasped. "No, I don't need to see them, too."

"It's not just them. Its all of us. Even you. Even our great King Settra."

Lahmizzash's hands went for his face, he felt his palms slide over it, but his fingers felt cold bone. He twiddled his finger in front of his eye, it was bare bone. Disgust roiled in his gut. His gut? He looked down upon his robes, tattered after their long stay in the sarcophagus. Bony fingers, his boney fingers, ripped open the robes to reveal his belly- he saw a linen wrapped torso, wizened and paper like, clinging to bones. No guts in there. They were in a jar, back down the hallway probably. But he could still feel it! His balance wavered, he fell back against a stone wall. Its support kept him on his feet.

"Nauseated? Yes, we feel such things, but they are lies." said Nekthop, "Tricks of the mind. What senses we once had are dead and gone with our living flesh. You see, but you do not have eyes. You feel but your skin is long gone. You smell, but only after you see something that your mind thinks you should smell. Here, look at this."

Nekthop's gloved hand pulled out a small white orb. "What is this?"

"An egg?" said Lahmizzash.

"No, but it looks like a hen's egg, doesn't it? Here- take it. Feel it in your hands."

Lahmizzash took the sphere and watched it roll about his bony appendages, the fingers of his fleshless hand. "It feels like an egg. It has a smooth shell."

"Yes, now look at it. Very closely. Bring it close to your eyes."

Close inspection revealed that the sphere was anything but smooth like an egg. A forest of ragged projections were all over the surface. It looked like endless canyons in miniature.

"Roll it in your hands now."

The sphere felt entirely different, like a handful of jagged pebbles glued together.

Nekthop took back the sphere. "A simple display, but you begin to understand: a great deal of our existence is a construct of our own making. You feel only because your mind believes you should feel."

"What did your cult do to us?" asked Lahmizzash.

"An interesting question," said Nekthop, who replaced his hood in silence, then gestured to Lahmizzash to continue on with him. "But one to which I do not know the precise answer. Generations of Mortuary Cult advancements, experiments, all of them interacting with foreign magical influences… perversions and rites unknowable were performed over the centuries. I do not know the how or the why. It is best you try to ignore that question, as best you can."

The cultist and the tomb king walked together in silence for a time. A nagging thought was bothering Lahmizzash, certain words were itching at something in the back of his mind- perversions and rites unknowable… perversions and rites unknowable. There was something in that, something that sounded familiar and important, but whatever it was, he could not draw it out. If he had a tongue, he would say it was on the tip of it, but just out of reach.

They emerged into soft moonlight, a ring of cultists waiting outside the tomb parted for them. Moonlit dunes spread in every direction, a silver ocean frozen in place. Stone pillars, pointed spires, and other architectural shapes dotted the landscape, mostly submerged like wrecked and sunken ships hidden beneath still waves of sand. The White Pyramid rose before them in the distance, battered and worn by sandy winds, but still glorious, mighty.

"We have plenty of time to learn the answers to such questions," said Nekthop, "but for now, we must help King Settra rebuild our Nehekara."

Desolation. Endless desolation. The Nehekara of Lahmizzash's memory was a green, blooming place. This district which held his tomb was particularly verdant. He designed the irrigation system himself. But the gardens were gone, the city walls vanished. Even the river which had sparked and curved in the sunlight was nowhere to be found. Sand, all of it sand.

"How- how do we begin?" Lahmizzash mumbled. He was a whirl of emotions; horror, exaltation, excitement, dread, despair, frustration. He stared off into the desert without sight, without eyes.

Without eyes. He lifted a bony finger, stared at it as Nekthop droned on about Settra, the words a jumble of noise- meanwhile his own bone-bare finger…

Firming his resolve, he thrust his finger towards his own eye, directly at the center of his vision. It was in his eyeball, behind his eyeball, the offending digit abruptly severed as it passed beyond the limit of his field of vision. After a notable delay, he suddenly felt an alarming jab in his eye which did not exist. He dropped to his knees at the pain, boney knees making boney sounds on the bare stone, screaming. He removed the finger and the pain vanished, but Lahmizzash continued to scream, to let out the burning, aching pressure roaring throughout his body.

It was all gone. All gone! Lahmizzash's loved ones passed through his mind's eye, little snippets of memory, his son's face screwing up in concentration as he prepared to throw a ball, his wife's smile after a surprise, his grandmother's appraising, and slightly disapproving rise of her eyebrow, - all of them gone, dust, bone, sand. His kingdom, the promised immortality, his faith which sustained him through decades. Dust, bone, sand.

Lahmizzash realized he was still screaming, and it felt good, like urinating with an overfull bladder. He took in a shuddering breath, though he had no lungs to fill, no esophagus to shudder, but felt soothed by those feelings, familiar, living feelings. He gathered all these things and then screamed again- this time the panic was replaced by rage and frustration. Nekthop and his followers stepped back as Lahmizzash's voice carried over the sands, and his fleshless hands beat at the stone of his own tomb.

The tomb shuddered, sending thin layers of sand sliding down nearby dunes. The cultists were alarmed, glancing in all directions. "Lord Yak'reb!-" cried Nekthop, but a nearby dune exploded in sand, fragments of stone soaring through the air, black holes in the night sky. Some of those pieces drifted quickly in their direction. Lahmizzash's screams petered out as he instinctually tracked the debris trajectory, dazed. They were going to land near them, but he didn't care. One of them might crush me. That wouldn't be so bad.

The cultists were less passive, many letting out their own screams of alarm as they scattered in a desperate effort to be anywhere else but where they were. It was too late. The stones thundered in, four large boulders of broken masonry thudded loudly into the nearby sand, one hit Lahmizzash's tomb with a deafening crunch of stone- one of the cultists vanishing underneath- bone splinters bouncing off nearby stones.

From inside the dune rose a titanic figure, a massive jackal-headed man, easily 100 feet tall or more.

"A hierotitan!" said Nekthop. "You've called it to service, Lord Yak'reb!"

Lahmizzash watched, still in a daze, as the giant leveraged a massive staff, and with it, climbed from the hole in Lahmizzash's buried tomb and rose up- an ebony titan in silhouette, patterns of gemstones glittering in the moonlight.

"So you see, Lord Yak'reb!" exalted Nekthop. "Not all your Nehekara is gone! Our glorious works yet rise and answer the call! You exist! Your power is not destroyed but simply transformed- buried! King Settra shall reclaim it all, rebuild it all- nay, surpass it all! All memory of Nehekara shall be surpassed by what shall yet come to be!"

The giant turned its jackal snout towards them. Lahmizzash could feel it see him. It recognized him, he knew it. An enormous carved foot lifted and then sprayed sand when it came down near the cultists. Lahmizzash remembered this statue's construction. He saw again the kindly face of Pellon, a priest who had served his father, served as Lahmizzash's childhood tutor, and then advisor until age had turned him frail and sickly. The elderly man had been placed in the center of that statue, still half carved, the Mortuary Cultists busily swaying and chanting in their rites and spells. "I shall be here!" Pellon had called to Lahmizzash, his voice thin but fervent, as the Cultists sealed him up, "I shall await your call to serve again!"

The giant was still, staring down at him from on high. A massive weighing-scale swung idly in the statue's other hand, its clanking chain-work the only sound in the night. The cultists and Nekthop waited in silence.

"Pellon!" shouted Lahmizzash, "I am Lahmizzash Yak'reb, once king of Khemri! Will you serve me now, as you did in life?"

The heriotitan dropped to a knee, shaking the tomb, and bowed its head in genuflection.

"You have a mighty servant, Lord Yak'reb." said Nekthop, his excitement suddenly replaced by caution. "What will you now do?"

Lahmizzash turned to the priest. "We go to Khemri, and pledge our service to the great King Settra!"

Nekthap and his cultists bowed deeply. "So you say, so shall it be done. By Settra's will!"


	2. Chapter 2

_From the Tomb of Lahmizzash Yak'reb, West Wall, Shrine Room, Section 3C_

_"…and so, Pellon the Priest was sealed into the hierotitan, and the young Prince Lahmizzash wept for his friend. The craftsmen and priests looked upon him in awe. They said to one another: 'Here is Prince Lahmizzash, son of King Lahmizzar, weeping for an old priest. He truly loves his people.' And so the people gave him the name, The Weeping Prince, and their love for him grew…"_

Morning came slightly earlier when one was elevated above the sands of the desert. The shoulder of a hundred-foot tall statue felt the rays of the sun a few seconds earlier than the sands far below. Lahmizzash Yak'reb, formally King of Khemri, chief city of Nehekara, and formally a living, breathing human being, did not feel the light heat of the morning sun. The chilling air of a vanishing desert night was likewise meaningless to the unfeeling flesh of Lahmizzash's unliving state.

He did, however, feel the swaying gait of the hierotitan, but he was lodged securely against the jackal-head's neck. He clutched the items looted from his own tomb, his sword and his crown. He could go back for the rest when he had more time.

The White Pyramid of Settra now loomed in the near distance, towering above even Lahmizzash's current lofty height. The only other significant landmark in the sea of sand and buried ruins was a large, dark plateau to the south. In the night, Lahmizzash had thought it was some sort of natural rock formation. Though it was far away, Lahmizzash was sure it was still within the southern limits of the city, such was the size of the old capital. This puzzled him; he did not recall any sort of natural stone plateau there- only irrigated farmland and outer hamlets of the city.

Morning light revealed the mysterious rock to be of obvious deliberate outline, a manmade structure to be sure- easy to see even at this distance. In its destroyed state, its complete form was unknowable, but it hinted at some construction that had dwarfed The White Pyramid in size. That in itself was an astonishing sacrilege- that some king was arrogant enough to believe themselves greater than Settra. Lahmizzash ruminated on the distant ruin while Pellon, the hierotitan, lumbered on, conveying Lahmizzash ever closer to The White Pyramid and to King Settra.

Lahmizzash frowned. Something about the black ruin stirred dread in him. He felt twinges of anger, fear, but also… satisfaction? Was it because it existed or because it was in ruins? He could not quite decide. He stared long and hard at that shape, trying to evoke a memory of its importance, but as it was last night, he could not quite come up with the answer. Perhaps he was mistaken, and the building was from after his own time as King, and King Settra, whom died centuries before him, would be just as ignorant of it.

The thought of Settra returned Lahmizzash's mind to his imminent meeting with that risen king. Lahmizzash Yak'reb was King of Kehmri in life, but that was centuries after Settra, also King of Khemri, was sealed in his White Pyramid. Two kings claiming the same title was a dangerous situation for everyone, but especially for the weaker of the two claimants- which was Lahmizzash in this case. However, Lahmizzash held no ambition for King Settra's claim to Khemri or Nehekara.

He could still remember his own childhood lessons: his tutor, Pellon, (then a normal human and not a giant, living statue,) would read him the stories of Settra: how that great King united all the Nehekaran cities by defeating their unruly and selfish kings, and then the barbarous lands surrounding; how Settra would return from death in glory, and rule over a golden kingdom, everlasting. Settra was Lahmizzash's God-King since an early age, and he was honored by the chance to serve him. But how to make King Settra believe that?

Lahmizzash was not a child, but had been King himself, surviving a lifetime of politics, subterfuge, and challenges to his power. So had Settra. Could Lahmizzash stroll up, say "Hello, King Settra. I was King of Kings in Nehekara after you, but I don't want that title anymore, I promise. I'm here to be your loyal vassal and never betray you!" Sure. That would be an excellent way to return to the sleep of death in a hurry.

No, a God-King was still a man- just a famously successful one. Like any truly successful political figure, Settra was a swirl of ambition and emotion hidden beneath a public persona, purposefully crafted to advance those ambitions and satisfy those emotions. So who was Settra, really? What mortal and mundane psyche swirled under the veneer of the God-King?

Lahmizzash's mind rummaged through his collected memories and knowledge of Settra.

Most of what was known is a hyperbolic mix of legend and history: King Settra consolidated Nehekara through warfare, conquering all the lesser cities and making them vassals of Khemri, the greatest of the cities. He famously battled on the front lines with his own soldiers- indeed, the most popular pottery in Lahmizzash's Khemri was always painted with King Settra atop his war chariot, leading the charge with his iconic crescent sword held aloft.

After the unification, King Settra turned his attention to the surrounding lands and subjugated the barbarous peoples who lived there. Then, famously, King Settra climbed atop a mountain at the edge of those newly conquered lands, and there looked upon the lands he had conquered behind him, and then the vast expanse of unconquered land before him- and wept. Legend says King Settra wept because he realized he would not live long enough to bring Nehekara's light to the entire world- and so the Mortuary Cult gained prominence by seeking ways to make Settra immortal.

Lahmizzash spent his life judging and reading the people of his kingdom. If one stripped away the obvious embellishments of the Settra history: Settra the man was a warlord who was addicted to conquest, likely weeping atop the mountain because his dream of world domination was finally dashed by a world that just kept getting bigger. He was a general who did not fear defeat because he did not know its taste. This belied a cunning mind which crafted favorable conflicts, likely securing victory before the battle even began. Since Settra took to the front lines, he probably enjoyed the blood and chaos of combat, mostly for the enjoyment of seeing defeat in the eyes of his enemies as he ran them through. As King of Kings, Settra made vassals of the other kings of Nehekara, a form of delegation not unlike subordinate officers in an army- so Settra applied his military pragmatisms to other aspects of his life. Settra the man was thus likely aggressive, arrogant, and authoritarian; but with the intellect and personal strength to back it up. In short, Settra was extremely dangerous.

Such a man would be sensitive to challenge, but interested in anything potentially useful. Lahmizzash should approach with deference, but without groveling- any king distrusts the man who bows too much. And, like any person, Settra would favor his own traits in others- so Lahmizzash must appear strong, intelligent, kingly; to gain the God-King's respect without seeming like a potential rival. Lahmizzash nodded to himself. He had his strategy; and just in time, for the White Pyramid of Settra the Imperishable loomed before him.

Near its base, the impressive grand entrance to the revered tomb was in shambles, but that was a notable improvement over the rest of Nehekara, which was bits of ruined masonry lost amidst endless sand. Here lay full walls, broken, but still recognizable as walls. Enormous statutes (the traditional, inanimate variety) lined a long stone causeway to the base of the pyramid- none quite in a single piece; a missing arm here, a missing head there. In some places the long walls had buckled, but no sand seemed to have drifted in.

Sand should have drifted in. Clearly, it's been cleaned up. This place was… alive? No. But active, at least. Lahmizzash realized he was likely being watched closely as his hierotitan lumbered over the final few dunes to the open causeway of Settra's great tomb. Time to start looking the part.

He stood and placed his crown on his head, a modest affair, by Nehekarian standards- a golden circlet, molded into the head of a hawk at the front- but lined with brilliant blue azurite stones in intricate patterns, interspersed by dazzling rainbow opal. Lahmizzash didn't know how other kings suffered the huge, sphinx-styled crowns which were gold all the way down to the shoulders. The circlet alone was heavy enough and caused headaches. His sword was also practical, a sturdy blade of standard design- but Lahmizzash's father had it made for him for his 17th birthday. A soldier's blade- with a few sapphires in the hilt, of course. (He was royalty after all.) But while he had trained seriously with the sword all his life, Lahmizzash had never had to use it, favoring a commanding vista of the battlefield and reliable runners for his orders. If he were honest with himself, Lahmizzash dreaded the moment he may need to draw his blade in personal defense, for in his estimation, the likelihood of meeting a superior swordsman was too great.

Equipped, and in robes as fresh as his tomb's treasure hold could provide, he was ready to meet King Settra. Near at hand was the hierotitan's large jackal ear, into which Lahmizzash shouted. "Pellon, listen! This is a political situation so I need you to act in a specific way. I'm sure you remember the protocols- you taught them to me. Take me into your palm, and carry me three-quarters of the way down the causeway to the grand-entrance, then set me down and remain in genuflect. You are a weapon, my old friend, so it is important you appear as sheathed as you are able. Do you understand?"

The hierotitan could not speak, but it continued to the base of the final dune and then stopped. In a gentle motion, it raised its left hand up to the right shoulder where Lahmizzash was perched. In kingly calm, he stepped onto the offered platform like he did this every day of his life, and then held a confident poise as the hierotitan extended its arm and carried Lahmizzash reverently down the causeway. Though he no longer had much skin, Lahmizzash could feel it itch- eyes were upon him. Figuratively, at any rate.

The world was silent save for the hiss of the wind and the steady booming of Pellon's mighty tread. It was an ominous, eerie place: The scarred, white pyramid above, the dilapidated causeway with its giant statues, the cracked stone steps at the end, leading to a pair of enormous stone doors- Pellon could walk through them, were they open. The rising morning sun disappeared behind the pyramid as they proceeded down the causeway, the shadow cast by King Settra enveloping them.

The hierotitan reached its mark and sank into a genuflection, the hand which held Lahmizzash lowering quickly to the ground- sending butterflies through Lahmizzash's non-stomach. But he held steady, gracefully leaped to the stones of the causeway, and began striding towards the steps. Pellon remained still, as if he too were one of the inanimate statutes of the causeway.

Lahmizzash's feet were much, much quieter than Pellon's, but his steps still echoed as he climbed the stair to the stone doors. At the top, he stood before them and their intricate carvings- he felt something like a toy in a land of giants.

"I am Lahmizzash Akherb of Khemri," he shouted to the stone door, "I am come to answer the summons of Settra, King of Kings, sovereign lord of all Nehekara!"

With a shudder of crackling stone, the doors responded, opening slowly to reveal a columned gallery of vast construction. The dim morning light penetrated the tomb only slightly, as if it too were apprehensive of going inside. The columns were intricately painted, though faded, and behind them, half hidden in shadow, giant statues knelt; hierotitans, a row of them on each side of the gallery, though they appeared inactive. The center was a delicately bricked open space, down which Lahmizzash walked, attempting an aura of relaxed confidence.

He ignored the hierotitans, the legion of other smaller statues (these about twice the size of a man and holding two swords), the menacing stone-carved scorpions and sphinxes, the gold, the jewels, and other wondrous riches which filled this place. His eyes were ahead, focused on the raised dais upon which a normal-sized human figure sat in bored contemplation amidst this entombed wealth and power- a clenched fist supporting a mightily crowned head.

It was a passively provocative posture, and one Lahmizzash himself used on people whom he wanted to see, but didn't want them to think he wanted to see them. He felt he already knew how this audience would go, but then Settra did something Lahmizzash had never done- the great king rose from his seat to meet his guest.

In doing so, King Settra revealed himself to be a tall, broad, imposing figure- his robes pristine and dazzled with gemstones. Settra drew a massive blade from a sheath leaning against his throne, the iconic crescent sword, right from the pottery artwork! The dead king held it there at his side, idly- saying without saying that he was ready to use it at need. More unnerving was Settra's face, it was mummified, dark, but stripped of its linen, so the thin wrapping of ancient skin held tightly over his visage, making his scowl easy to see even if his eyes were vague dark hollows in his skull. Settra favored the grand, sphinx-style crown, but Lahmizzash doubted it gave this intimidating figure any headaches.

To his credit, Lahmizzash held his pace: even steps, never faltering. He decided the lack of real eyes in his own head was a decided advantage- they had no secrets to give up to Settra's gaze.

He neared the dais, near the silent, towering King Settra the Imperishable. Lahmizzash removed his own sword from his hip, still with sheath on. Then removed his own crown, and hung it from the hilt of the sword. He then kneeled, head bowed, and offered the sword and crown up to Settra in upraised palms.

"King Settra, I am Once-King Lahmizzash Yak'reb of Khemri, come at your command with my crown and my sword, for you to take them, and to use them as you will."

King Settra did not move to take Lahmizzash's offered sword and crown. "Why did you answer my call?"

A simple, open question. Difficult to answer. What type of answer would be best? Flattery? That would make Lahmizzash seem sycophantic. Perhaps play stupid? Definitely not. Stupidity won't gain respect. But a variation of stupidity? A stupidity of innocence… an innocent or faultless motive? That could work and it was all he had, delay could be just as dangerous. "Because you are King Settra. I am honored to be called and honored to serve."

"Serve? How do you intend to serve me?"

"By doing what you will have me do."

"Doing what I will have you do…" Settra stepped off his dais, but did not put away his sword.

Lahmizzash remained still, head bowed, palms up in offering. The King approached and stood before Lahmizzash's bowed head. Lahmizzash could feel Settra eyes considering him.

"So you are an errand boy, then?" The King began to circle Lahmizzash. He could see Settra's sandaled, bony feet slowly walking around him. "Will you fetch me dates? Sweep the sand from my doorstep? Are you not King in Khemri? You will allow yourself to be used thus?" King Settra's voice dripped with skepticism.

Lahmizzash was being stalked. An instinctual alpha-predator was circling him, sniffing and snarling. It was time to show he had thorns.

"I allow myself to serve the King of Nehekara."

King Settra stopped his pacing. "You ALLOW?! YOU ALLOW yourself to serve me?"

Lahmizzash chose to take the question as rhetorical. Settra was off-balance, so Lahmizzash remained silent to let his answer do its work. The longer King Settra spent interpreting, the more invested he will become in getting the answer.

"Explain!"

This was the moment. Lahmizzash rose from his knees without Settra' allowance. He stood face to face with King Settra the Imperishable. The king's scowl deepened as Lahmizzash stared into that dead face and its empty sockets. "I, too, am a king of Khemri. In my time, I spoke and all obeyed. But that was then, and this is now the dawn of Settra's Golden Kingdom. I allow myself to be used, a tool advancing your will. I allow my authority to be diminished by your greater glory. In this way, the King within me may exercise its royal prerogative: King Yak'reb serves King Settra because King Yak'reb wills that to be so."

Lahmizzash offered again his sheathed sword, crown dangling loosely from the hilt- but he did not kneel. He started back into King Settra's scowling face. "This is my royal gift to you, King Settra. My preeminence is now yours, your majesty."

King Settra was silent. Lahmizzash wished he could see the man's eyes, but no one had eyes in this land. Now he wished Settra could see his own eyes, and the confidence he would make visible within them. Settra took the offered sword and Lahmizzash let it go.

Settra leaned his own massive blade against his thigh, and used the freed hand to remove Lahmizzash's dangling crown from the hilt of the sword. The king turned it in his hand, examining it, but Lahmizzash could not be sure since Settra's head remained immobile- Settra may still be looking directly at him. Abruptly, King Settra hurled the crown into a distant part of the dark galley. It clanged mutedly against something in the dark. Lahmizzash did not react, but his mind raced at that. What did that mean? Was it disrespect? Was it disgust in a rival's crown, so easily attained? Was it a critical review of the crown's design? Hardly…

Next, Settra began examining Lahmizzash's sword. He pulled the blade halfway out of its sheath. "This is a good blade. Practical." King Settra drew it and slashed the air in an easy, practiced motion. "The balance is perfect." He brought the edge close to his face and made a show of examining the edge of its length. "It's pristine. Virgin. You never used it."

This coming from a king who led from the front line, red sword slashing. In this, Lahmizzash could either admit he had never fought anyone personally, or lie. Say he fought in battles? Dangerous. He might be challenged by Settra to single combat, a form of entertainment for the warrior King. No, that would be disastrous. Lahmizzash thought he should possess traits that Settra loved in himself, but he should not try to cast himself as a lower-quality Settra copy. His mind whirled. Victory! Settra adored victory, above all else. That was the path.

"My rule was firm and Nehekara mostly at peace. I never needed to use it. Though I did practice with other blades, to save this one's edge should I find myself in personal battle."

"Your kingdom warred. I read your history. You deployed troops in anger, you gained Khemri through conquest. The histories tell of your victories against the Erased Name," Settra let the tip of the sword drop, pointing it directly at Lahmizzash's face. "You led from the rear, avoiding battle."

The Erased Name? What was King Settra talking about? No, forget that. That is for another time- answer the question!

"My soldiers were the agents of my will- they were better suited to the task. From the rear, I told them to go, to do; and I won while my enemies fell. Is not victory beautiful to behold, regardless the vantage point?"

Settra's scowl faded for the first time, the sword tip dipped to the ground, no longer threatening. King Settra's jaw clenched, a soft sound of grinding molars, while he considered that statement, as if he were chewing the idea, cautiously tasting it.

He offered Lahmizzash's weapon back; blade in one hand, sheath in the other. "Take it. You will need it in my service. Nehekara is not what we remember."

Lahmizzash took the naked blade, his hand briefly touching Settra's hand as they exchanged the grip. Then Settra casually took up his own blade and turned to walk back to his dais. Lahmizzash Yak'reb realized he held a drawn sword in hand and King Settra's back was before him. It was a test and a trap, not a subtle one.

Obvious that Settra would turn and strike upon the whisper of an aggressive move- but still, the king and politician within Lahmizzash felt the pull of the unexpected and tantalizing opportunity. Before his mind's eye, Lahmizzash saw a fantasy of striking down Settra and ruling Nehekara himself. Blasphemous, traitorous thought! Lahmizzash dismissed it and remained still.

King Settra walked casually back to his throne, took up his own sheath still waiting there, then finally turned back to regard Lahmizzash. Slowly and deliberately, Lahmizzash sheathed his blade, returned it to his hip, and bowed low. King Settra sheathed his own blade, then descended from his dais again, this time ushering Lahmizzash to accompany him in a walk back down the gallery towards the distant entrance. "Very well, Lord Yak'reb. I called you here to serve, so I will tell you of your first task."

Lahmizzash fell into step. "Of course, my King."

"King. King. King. That word is an eternal host to difficulties, it is not?" Settra's voice was changed- lighter. Less formal.

"Yes. I slept much better before my coronation."

"As did I. But one of the few blessings to come from the Cult's failure is that we no longer need to sleep. That is good, for there is too much to be done, and quickly. Which is why I ordered you awakened. I am in need of those who can enforce my will when I cannot do it personally. I am Settra! Risen from the dead! But I am singular; and can only be in one place at a time."

Lahmizzash remained silent. He recognized the opening statement of a kingly assignment. He'd given countless of them himself.

"You are not the first I awakened to that purpose, Lord Yak'reb. And a great many woke before even myself. You look surprised. But know this: none of this was according to plan. Something foreign woke up the dead of Nehekara. I awoke to find my kingdom in ruin, and my subjects in chaos- dozens of lesser kings awake and each claiming power over the others. It was civil war- and I went out to put the fools in their places. A few of those early risers came to their senses, and accepted my sovereignty. The rest either fled- or stood their ground. And I ground them to dust.'

'The battles over Khemri are stopped, but Nehekara is still destroyed and most of our people remain in the sleep of death. The commoners, the soldiers, and the like: all of them were not prepared for this… afterlife. They awaken, but they don't speak, only follow commands- utterly devoid of their own will. I ordered the Cult to fix that, but those idiots… I do not anticipate a quick solution. Most of those capable of real sentience are the worst of the lot: aristocracy; an obnoxious and petty breed, on average. You, Lord Yak'reb, appear to be exceptional. I want you to deal with someone who is very much in the mean: King Ubaid, he calls himself."

Lahmizzash's memory lit up upon hearing that name. "Ubaid, King of Numas?"

"Yes. He is from your time period, am I correct?" King Settra's head turned toward

Lahmizzash.

"Yes, your majesty. I know it well. He caused many of my sleepless nights. Ubaid was a verbose critic, always toeing the line of treason. But Numas was an important city for the Kingdom, and I was loath to open civil war over words, for in deeds Ubaid was careful and gave me no justification. I deemed it not worth the disruption to the people."

"A jackal who slinks in the night, ready to strike at a sign of weakness. I would have killed him and been done with it."

"Such a solution was not politically expedient, you majesty. I survived him."

King Settra dismissed that statement with a wave of his hand. "Regardless, he is a problem now. He and his forces lurk near the ruins of what once was Numas, to the east. He stands in defiance of the Crown, and will be destroyed." King Settra advanced to the open door of his tomb and stopped.

Outside, the Nehekaran sun was already cooking the earth. Pellon the hierotitan, playing the statue and kneeling in the causeway, appeared blurry through the rising heat in the air. King Settra turned to Lahmizzash, his chin upturned in an authoritarian gaze.

"Lord Yak'reb, mount your… steed, and return to your tomb. My servant, Nekthop, will have awakened your soldiers, and they will be awaiting your commands. With haste, you will proceed to Numas, neutralize the forces of the traitor, Ubaid; and bring him, or his remains, back to me."

Dismissed. Lahmizzash bowed to King Settra, and then set off towards his kneeling hierotitan. He did not look back, but could feel Settra's eyes upon his back for a time, but before he reached Pellon, the slow grinding of stone marked the closing of the doors of Settra's tomb. He stepped upon the lowered palm of the hiertitan, and shouted, "We return to my tomb!" The statue rose from its kneeling posture, turned, and strode away- leaving a causeway which was just as empty as when they arrived.


	3. Chapter 3

_From the Tomb of Lahmizzash Yak'reb, Grand Gallery, East Wall, Section 2G_

_"King Lahmizzar became surrounded and x-x-x-x approached and slew him. So Prince Lahmizzash became King of Lahmia, and took up the reigns of the gathered armies, adorned in the esteem they held for his slain father. He gathered the chariots of all the kings' forces, and swept the field, his enemies broke before him. Afraid of the new king's might, x-x-x-x withdrew, and his chief lieutenant stood to delay the armies of King Lahmizzash in their pursuit. But a javelin pierced the lieutenant's heart, and so his forces crumbled. King Lahmizzash led his army through the foe and reached Khemri, sacking and destroying the throne of x-x-x-x. Thus, King Lahmizzash of Lahmia became King of Khemri, and so, King over all Nehekara."_

Lahmizzash's buried tomb was visible over the crest of the next dune- a half buried stone entrance, black and dark, and another larger gap in the dune where Pellon burst out the night before. Now, however, there were large groups of what appeared to be people, idling around the tomb entrance. As he neared, it became clear these were the soldiers promised by King Settra. However, most appeared to be lighter on flesh than Lahmizzash himself, naught but bones holding swords and shields, some with tatters of blue heraldry that marked their loyalty to the Yak'reb Dynasty.

Pellon halted before the tomb, and Lahmizzash stared down at the hundreds of skeletons- his army: three companies of skeletons with sword and shield, two companies with spears, and a small company of more fleshy warriors. These last stood in orderly fashion about the entrance of the tomb- and the familiar robed figure of Nekthop stepped amongst them from inside the tomb.

"There, Pellon. Place me near the cultist. I would speak with him. And don't step on any of those… people."

Pellon brought up a palm, Lahmizzash stepped on, and was lowered back to the entrance of his tomb- Nekthop watched his descent expectantly. Lahmizzash was unnerved by the crowds of animated skeletons- their dry, empty sockets following his descent with uniform attention. The mummified soldiers saluted as he stepped off the hierotitan's palm.

"Your tomb guard," advised Nekthop, " They are still loyal soldiers, and their entombment was granted more attention than the average man-at-arms. You'll notice them bulkier, stronger, and much more resilient than the rabble of bones out there."

Lahmizzash examined the armor of one of the tomb guard- intricate, carved with the blue hawk of House Yak'reb. These were the loyal officers of his forces, granted honored places of burial within his own tomb.

"Your tomb guard are unusual," said Nekthop, "They appear to have been buried at different times. Some before yourself, but most of them after. Why is that?"

Lahmizzash tried to recognize the face of the guardsman, thinking it may be someone he remembered, but he could not place it- it was too degenerated. "I ordered them to follow me in their own time. The tradition of murdering the servants of a king upon his death is ignorant barbarism- these people had lives and families. They had places of honor with me in death, but I saw no need to be greedy. I imagined I would not be going anywhere and could wait a few decades for my loyal followers to join me as their own deaths came as fate decreed."

"An enlightened point of view," said Nekthop, "one few kings shared. I know of only three other tombs like yours."

"Such as King Rakkan of Bhagal?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Many of his writings survived in my time. His grandest work: "Life, Death, Life," was controversial, and advocated against forced entombment, among other obsessions of the Mortuary Cult. I found his arguments sound- I'm saddened I was in the minority. Perhaps we could have avoided… all of this."

The cultist remained silent. Lahmizzash had not been tactful and likely deeply offended the robed priest. But Nekthop's cult was responsible for this unsightly horde of cadavers, and Lahmizzash himself barely distinguishable from them.

"Guard!", said Lahmizzash, "What is your name?"

The tomb guard did not respond, did not even look at him. Lahmizzash frowned. King Settra had said something about this, about the lesser castes being of lesser ability upon awakening. But could it really be so? Lahmizzash turned to a different tomb guard, this one a physically imposing female, "Guardsman! State your name!"

She, too, seemed oblivious to his voice. Were they even human? "Both of you, sit!" he commanded.

The two guards immediately sank to the ground and sat with crossed legs. Lahmizzash found himself disgusted at the sight of it. "They are dogs. They are nothing better than dogs!"

"Loyal dogs, to be sure, Lord Yak'reb. As this is your tomb, no one else can really command them but you. We can get them as far as this by ordering them to prepare for your arrival. But more than that- well, I think if you did not return, they would stand here until they turned to dust." said Nekthop, "- but believe me, their martial prowess remains in full force. The rabble out there, well, I'm not sure they are as reliable. They are just the common soldiers who took advantage of the free burial pits around your tomb."

Nekthop did not understand. Lahmizzash could feel a simmering rage burning just behind his eyes. The Cult! The Mortuary Cult! Their promises as empty as the sands of Nehekara. The loyal servants and soldiers of House Yak'reb reduced to this, this, slavery! Worse than slavery, for they even lacked the ability to perceive they were slaves. They were things. Automatons. Dolls that could move. Not like Pellon the hierotitan, whom continued to serve out of loyalty, but instead things which moved because Lahmizzash said they should move, and for no other reason; not for pay, or loyalty, or faith.

"What happened to them!" Lahmizzash rounded on Nekthop, who leaned back in shock. "What did your cult do? Rocks have more willpower!"

"The- the- the cult- the spells," stammered Nekthop, "The spells the Cult cast upon them were less powerful- less expensive! Lower quality! Whatever forces created us, also created them, but they were less protected from the foreign corruption. But that's just speculation, Lord Yak'reb! I- I- we- don't know for sure!"

"Oh, but you are just fine." sneered Lahmizzash, "You are not of noble blood. But I see the cult spared no expense on its own members- a valuable use of the royal tithes, I'm sure."

Nekthop's jaw opened and closed under his veil, but no words came out. The priest was flummoxed. Lahmizzash did not expect any answer, he knew the Cult had no answers- but attacking Nekthop felt good, cathartic. He felt a deep aversion for the cultist, a disgust, an anger, that he could not quite explain. He did not remember feeling this way towards the Mortuary Cult before he died, so what was different now? Perhaps he was just using Nekthop as a scapegoat for the current situation, but at the moment, he didn't care.

But this line of conversation was not profitable. Lahmizzash changed topic. "Where is my wife?"

"What? Your wife?" Nekthop's voice was regaining its normal pitch, "She was buried in your tomb. Your tomb's walls record that her death was seventeen years after your own death, but we have not excavated that part of your tomb. There were collapses, and King Settra ordered us to prioritize you and your soldiers."

"Well, you've provided me my soldiers, what's left of them. Is this all?"

"No-.. Yes. This is all of them" said Nekthop.

"Why did you answer no, first?" asked Lahmizzash.

"I meant there are no more other soldiers awake. This is all of them."

"So there are more sleeping?"

"No, this is all of them."

Nekthop was lying, that much was obvious. There were more soldiers here, it was no secret. He'd had five companies of royal guard in life. Not to mention the other constructs created, at great cost, by the Mortuary Cult; things of less height than the mighty Pellon, but still taller than a man. So why was Nekthop lying about something so obvious?

The most likely reason was Settra. Nekthop and his band of cultists were here on Settra's orders. King Settra did not want all of Lahmizzash's forces awakened, or at least not yet. What had Nekthop said when they first met, that there had been difficulties with other awakened kings? Kings like Ubaid of Numas, who took their troops and stood in defiance of Settra's rule. So, King Settra was not so quick to trust. Lahmizzash's actions would need to back up his words. So be it. But he would use Settra's minions, too. After all, he outranked them now, regardless of the evident leash Settra was holding about his neck.

"Fine," said Lahmizzash, "Then you have plenty of time to excavate the tomb of my wife. See that it is done by the time I return."

"King Settra requested my return to his tomb, after I finished awakening your army."

Logical argument did not work. It was time for the stick. Lahmizzash said, slowly: "If I return from King Settra's mission and my wife's tomb remains buried, I will be very upset with you, Nekthop."

"That is unfortunate- but King Settra-"

No, no, priest- you cannot hide behind your orders. "My dear, Nekthop," Lahmizzash smiled, though his mummified face likely didn't show it. He spread open his arms, indicating the undead soldiers surrounding them. "King Settra awoke me to direct armies in his name. I command a hierotitan. If I return and my wife remains buried... are you sure King Settra will favor you? You seem more replaceable than I."

Lahmizzash preferred subtle, open-ended promises of violence- better to let Nekthop's imagination create the threat. It would always be more effective than anything Lahmizzash could come up with, since only Nekthop knew what Nekthop really feared.

The priest nodded slowly. "Well, if I left behind some of my neophytes, they could accomplish your request while I fulfilled Settra's orders and return to his tomb myself."

"An elegant solution." said Lahmizzash. An easy victory, but it should be. Nekthop was just a priest whom held only the power he was granted by others, divine or otherwise. Agreement made, time to switch topic again . "And the others? My loyal followers. Can they be fixed? Made like us?"

"It is a question King Settra has placed to the Cult. We are working on a solution, but as I have said, it is complex," said Nekthap.

"We are making progress, Lord Yak'reb!" said a new voice- it was muffled but nearby. Nekthop used his palm to smack a sack which hung from his sash.

Lahmizzash looked about, but it was just himself and Nekthop amidst the silent, standing dead. "Who speaks?" asked Lahmizzash.

"Someone who should only speak when spoken to!" said Nekthop.

"Who?" asked Lahmizzash. "Where is this person?"

Nekthop sighed and un-tied the drawstring on the pouch hanging from his waist. "It was Khant, my research assistant. You may remember last night, one of my acolytes was crushed by a falling stone. That was Khant, and we discovered this morning he escaped complete destruction." Nekthop pulled from the sack a skull, and turned it to show Lahmizzash.

"I greet thee, Lord Yak'reb. I am Khant. It was I who spoke out of turn. I apologize," said the head.

Lahmizzash, who thought his undead army was the most macabre thing he would see this day, was again taken aback. "Ah, no need to apologize. What is this progress you were speaking of?"

"Well, we are very confident that the corruptive force of magic was some form of necromancy!" said the skull. Nekthop shifted his weight, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.

Lahmizzash stared at the talking skull, held in the hand of a mummified priest, amidst a small army of skeletal soldiers. "That is a discovery? I am a living mummy and you are a talking skull! What else would this be? Your cult's necromancy went awry!"

"No, no, forgive me, no! Lord Yak'reb, it is an easy mistake for a layman to make, but the magic of the Mortuary Cult was not, is not, necromancy! We do not seek to raise the dead, but to bring the dead back to life! Ultimately to discover immortality! But some strong force of necromancy interacted with the Cult's magic. It is the end of the thread that will allow us to begin untangling the knot!" Khant's voice was rich with enthusiasm, and it sounded like something Lahmizzash had not heard since his awakening: It was genuine.

"So when this knot is untangled, what then?"

"We will know where we are, in terms of our existence, so we can start to make our way towards the true goal! Life everlasting!"

"So the Cult doesn't have that yet? In all these thousands of years?"

"No, the Cult-"

Nekthop put a hand over Khant's mouth and said, "The Cult should not divulge its progress, as people tend to think success is much closer than it is. Thank you, Khant." Nekthop moved to put Khant's head back in its pouch. Lahmizzash mused that it was a strange object now. A person, yet not. A small orb of consciousness and knowledge. Like a talking book. Holding intimate information about the Cult. And Settra. And the happenings between his death and his awakening…

"Wait! I will take Khant with me," said Lahmizzash.

"What?" said Nekthop, "you want the severed head of my research assistant?"

"Yes, I need an advisor in regards to my new army. As a member of the Cult, he is knowledgeable in their capabilities and weaknesses in their current… state. Plus, I imagine it will be difficult for him to continue assisting in your research- he cannot even turn the page of a book."

Nekthop considered Khant's head like one would consider an old possession during a house cleaning. "I suppose that is true. I'm not quite sure what we are to do with him."

Lahmizzash seized the moment of indecision. "What say you, Khant? Will you aid me?"

Khant was no fool. Nekthop was likely to place him on some shelf and forget him, and Khant knew it. "Yes! I am eager to assist in what ways I can."

"Very well, if it will please you, Lord Yak'reb." Nekthop handed over the head. Lahmizzash accepted Khant into his hands, and it was a decidedly odd experience- like carrying a baby, which had the intellect of a grown man, and that baby was only a head.


	4. Chapter 4

_From the Tomb of Lahmizzash Yak'reb, Entrance, Section 1A_

_"Here lies King Lahmizzash Yak'reb, son of King Lahmizzar Yak'reb, King of Lahmia, King of Khemri, King of Nehekara, Victory-Bringer, Slayer of x-x-x-x, Slayer of Greenskins, Leader of Men, Beloved by the People, The Weeping Prince, The Blue Hawk…"_

"The architecture of your tomb is exquisite," said Khant, the decapitated skull.

He- it- whatever the best pronoun might be for a talking skull, was in Lord Lahmizzash Yak'reb's right arm; nestled against Lahmizzash's side like a watermelon bought at market. Khant, the head, was amazingly talkative, yammering away about anything and everything that crossed its boney brain as Lahmizzash took his leave from Nekthop, found a torch, and descended back into the tomb. Lahmizzash, the once King of Khemri, was inclined to be tolerant of Khant's loquaciousness. He supposed if one were just a disembodied skull, there was little else to do but talk.

However, Lahmizzash's many years as a ruler of men prejudiced him against idle flattery. "Oh? What do you find impressive about my grave?" said Lahmizzash, the light of the torch in his left arm illuminating their way back into the depths. Nothing revealed a sycophant easier than an open-ended question.

"The vaulted alcoves!" exclaimed Khant, "I've never seen such intricate arches!"

Lahmizzash raised his torch. Along the ceiling of the passage, there were indeed symmetrical alcoves along each wall, each filled with indiscernible items that sometimes glittered in the flickering torchlight. These alcoves were the bank of his afterlife. The portion which religion decreed would be needed in the next life. Since Lahmizzash was now a living corpse and could empty any or all of these alcoves at whim, it seemed the old beliefs were correct- not in the way he envisioned, but correct all the same.

The alcoves themselves were tricky to build. Their arches needed to be joined with the ceiling of the tomb just so, otherwise the integrity of the entire construction would be in doubt. Lahmizzash remembered long days with the foremen of the construction team, drawing and testing prototype arches- rare moments of self-indulgent pleasure in an overworked life of duty and ceremony. Architecture was his hobbyist passion, and these arches were a triumph of his original ideas. Lahmizzash was deeply proud of them, so despite himself, his opinion of Khant the cultist-head improved dramatically.

"They were a struggle!" said Lahmizzash, "Where did you gain such an eye for architecture?"

"I joined the Cult as a child. I was the third son."

"Ah," said Lahmizzash. It was tradition for the third son of noble families to join a religious order. The eldest son would inherit the calling of the father. The second son would join the military, unless the father was in the military, of course. And the third, the priesthood- or the Mortuary Cult. "So I imagine you spent a great deal of time inside crypts and tombs?"

"More time than the dead do, it seems!" said Khant. "Even now, an army of the dead stands about outside in the sun and wind, but here I am- descending into a tomb."

"I could leave you outside?"

"No! No, Lord Yak'reb. I did not mean it as a complaint; only an observation on the strange pattern of my life."

Lahmizzash shuddered at the word 'life'. It was eerie to hear it from a skull tucked under his arm.

They entered the modest central chamber. Lahmizzash's empty sarcophagus was in the center of the room, lid shattered on the floor. The rest of the room was a work of art. Elaborately chiseled columns bordered the space, and the walls and ceiling were symmetrical stacks of arched alcoves- interspersed by flat stone engraved with gilded hieroglyphs. All of this Lahmizzash designed, though he'd expected it only as a vessel of travel to a new and glorious afterlife.

Countless times, Lahmizzash entered this room to oversee some new section of the construction. It had been busy, noisy, and smokey from all the lanterns needed by the craftsmen. Now it was silent and regal, as if the room too had died. It was decidedly surreal to enter it now.

Lahmizzash placed Khant down on the edge of the empty sarcophagus. "I need to find a few items for our journey."

"What are you looking for?"

"My staff of office."

Lahmizzash began slowly walking along the walls of the chamber, using the torch to pour light into the recessed alcoves. Jewels and shiny coins were piled in most, almost as a filler of space between the larger items stuffed within. The downside of a modest tomb was thus: cramped storage space full of all the items one supposed might be needed in the afterlife.

Gods! Why are there so many coins? Lahmizzash thought to himself. It's amazing how useless they seem now. Or are they?

"Has an economy established itself?' Lahmizzash called back to Khant.

"Of sorts," came back Khant's voice as Lahmizzash continued his searching. "Gold is in seemingly endless supply, buried amidst all these tombs- but there is little to buy. So it's useless. But there is a market of sorts for canopic jars."

Lahmizzash paused in his rummaging and thought about that for a moment. Canopic jars? Why would anyone want those? "Organ jars? Why would those be in demand?"

"They are pieces of Nehekarans, sealed away in magic jars amidst sacred rites and incantations. The canopic jars thus contain a surprising amount of latent magical energy. Energy of the variety employed by the Mortuary Cult. The way in which they were sealed seems to protect them from the necromantic corruption which primed us all for awakening."

"So they can be used?"

"Yes, in many ways. Some of the Cult are devoting every hour to their study. As a matter of procedure, the canopic jars of kings, such as yourself, are gathered and utilized in the ritual of awakening. But some theorize that additional jars can augment those already awakened. I have doubts about that, myself."

"Such as?" Lahmizzash spotted a promising alcove. Where was that staff?

"Such as the simple fact that a canopic jar contains a bodily organ. It seems the addition of extra organs to a person, undead or otherwise, becomes superfluous at some point. What need does a man have for a third kidney, when he has no humours to circulate? I think the jars are better used in other aspects- such as the creation of constructs or the augmentation of those poor souls outside."

Jars of human organs were more valuable than gold or jewels in the new Kingdom of Nehekara. A currency of body parts. What a strange existence. The weight of the depression Lahmizzash felt earlier that morning began to threaten him, but then he spotted what he was looking for: an ivory pole was sticking out from beneath a pile of gold. He pulled it out, sending a cascade of coins clinking about on the stone floor.

It was a stout, ivory staff- chest high in length, as thick as a javelin. The gleaming pole was carved from the tusk of some massive beast of the far northern seas. On top, a flat platform was carved, its edging in the shape of the hawk of House Yak'reb. In the center of this platform, a large lapis-lazuli stone was set, shaped like a raindrop. It was a lovely stone of rich and vibrant blue- the same color of the clan regalia. But it was worthless now. Lahmizzash wrenched the stone from its place and tossed it back into the alcove from whence it came. He quickly gathered a number of necklaces from the treasure horde and returned to Khant at the sarcophagus with his prize.

"What are you doing, Lord Yak'reb?" asked Khant. "May I see?"

Lahmizzash sat next to the head on the edge of the sarcophagus. He reached over and turned the skull to face him. "I'm making your pedestal."

"What?"

Lahmizzash placed the staff between his legs and held it upright with his knees. "Come here, Khant. Let's see if this will work."

"What?" said Khant as Lahmizzash lifted him up. "Whoa!"

Lahmizzash set the head of Khant gently on the top of the staff. He pushed him down firmly on the setting, the head settling in a bit awkwardly, but surprisingly securely.

"Oh!" said Khant, as Lahmizzash played with the seating of the skull. "This feels quite odd."

As secure as it could be, Lahmizzash unlinked all of the necklaces, attached them end-to-end, and then wrapped them about the skull, securing it tightly. He stood and took up the staff experimentally. It was not much heavier than it was with the blue stone. He shook it slightly to gauge the weight and balance.

"Whoa- whoa!" said Khant.

"There, that is much better. Now you shall attend me in proper stature." said Lahmizzash.

"Lord Yak'reb!" said Khant, scandalized. Lahmizzash rotated the staff so the skull faced him. "Lord Yak'reb! You've turned me into an ornament! I'm a thing! A material item! Oh, this is cruel. You are a cruel man! My humanity is gone! I'm an inanimate object!"

"You've nothing but a head. You are an inanimate object." said Lahmizzash.

Khant began wailing, the mournful sound echoing out of the still skull. "Oh, gods, I'm cursed! I'm cursed!"

Lahmizzash realized that Khant was breaking down. The reality of his unlucky fate was beginning to hit home. This skull contained the mind and soul of a man. Without a body, what is our own head but a tight box? A prison with windows from which we can only peer out. Perhaps Khant's talkativeness was just a means to keep himself distracted from his own depressing condition.

"Khant! Khant!" Lahmizzash said, trying to stop the man's wailing. It fell in volume, which Lahmizzash interpreted as success. "This is just a temporary thing for you. I will find a way to get you a body. You won't be as you are forever. But I need your help, your knowledge. You are a member of the Mortuary Cult!. The knowledge to improve your existence is inside your own mind. I promise I will help you as I can. Do you know of anything that can be done for you?"

"Not that I know. We are still unsure of a great deal." said Khant, his voice cracking. But he sounded like he was regaining control of himself.

"Well, we will learn. And I am a vassal of King Settra himself. As my servant, you shall benefit from what I will come to possess and command. I promise you that I will help as I can."


	5. Chapter 5

_From the tomb of Lahmizzash Yak'reb, Grand Gallery, West Wall, Section 2E_

_"When afield, King Lahmizzash would set his tent upon a hill with a commanding vista of his army. His tent did not have walls, but stood open to the wind. When his army as a whole marched, mustered, battled, worked, or trained, King Lahmizzash would adon his armor and stand in the sun, to suffer the heat along with them, his blue armor gleaming in the light. The officers would say, "Are you tired? The Blue Hawk is still standing!" The soldiers would say to their comrades, "Don't slack! The Blue Hawk is still watching!"_

Lord Lahmizzash of House Yak'reb re-emerged into the sunlight, resplendent in the gold and blue armor of his dynasty. The ivory staff of his office, bedecked with the skull of Khant, looked a bit out of place- more like a goblin shaman's fetish than a symbol of Nehekaran aristocracy. But when Lahmizzash strode confidently amidst the gathered soldiers of his army, orderly rows of human skeletons bedecked in time-worn equipment- the skull did not look so out of place.

Lahmizzash motioned to Pellon the hierotitan, standing on the far edge of the idle soldiers. The giant statue obligingly kneeled and offered its palm as a platform. Lahmizzash stepped upon it and was raised to a commanding height over his forces.

Instinctual dread washed through Lahmizzash's gut when he looked down upon the hundreds of soldiers- all of them staring up with those dark and empty eye sockets. In the past, this would be the moment of inspirational speeches- a critical moment to set the tone of the endeavor which would risk the lives of hundreds of people, if not the thousands upon thousands who dwell in the kingdom of Nehekara. As King, Lahmizzash gave such speeches a few times in his life. He believed it was best to ground the conflict in the practical matters of the soldiers. Give them a reason to fight.

"The king in Numas stands in rebellion! He ignores the supremacy of Khemri! He disregards the union of our nation and so the sacrifice of your ancestors who bled for that union" shouted Lahmizzash. Such lines would assuredly extract a chorus of displeasure from a loyal army of Khemri- even the commoners believed that Khemri rightly ruled as chief city in Nehekara.

But the soldiers were silent- the empty-socketed skulls continued to stare up- wordlessly. "Shall we show this usurper that-" The fire of Lahmizzash's rhetoric went out, with no energy of the troops to fuel it. "-that we disagree?" More silence. Lahmizzash stared down into those hundreds of black pits. The wind ruffled quietly through the exposed fabric of Lahmizzash's under-armor. What was the point of this?

"We march to Numas!" he shouted. As one, the soldiers reoriented themselves to the east and began marching, a cloud of dust rising from the sand churning under their combined tread. Gods, what machine of war was this? Lahmizzash watched his army tread slowly up the nearest dune, Pellon waiting for several minutes for the infantry to advance far enough to justify a single step forward- a single massive stride covering the same distance. This is going to be a long trip.

Lahmizzash watched his soldiers travel up and down a few dunes, Pellon keeping pace, taking eight steps in a half hour. He lodged his staff into the gap between Pellon's fingers and sat, cross legged on the statue's open palm. The desert sun was descending behind them, turning the brown gold sand of day into the more metallic, orange gold of the afternoon. "How good are you with geography, Khant? How far is Numas from here?"

"Maps were never my specialty, my Lord," said the motionless skull atop Lahmizzash's staff.

"Well, let's see-" Lahmizzash said as he thought through it, mostly for something to do. "When I was king, my messenger to Numas would return in nine days with a response. They would travel by chariot along the highway, which would carry them more north than east to Agatta, which was more a crossroad town than a real city- no king ruled there. Then they would turn south-east toward Numas. The roads were good, so the chariot could probably cover 40 miles in a day. A nine day round trip: with one day being for the delivery of the message and the polite amount of time to consider an answer- which would be given to the messenger the following morning. So four days of travel, so about 160 miles. Meanwhile, we take a more direct route, perhaps only 120 miles in length. But we lack both chariots, highways, and fresh mounts."

Khant remained silent as Lahmizzash worked through his calculations.

"Soldiers were expected to march about 18 miles in five hours , plus perform the daily habits of living. One march in the morning, a sun-camp during the heat of the day, then more marching until the last light of the day. That's 36 miles a day, but any commander expecting a battle would want to move slower to preserve the troops for combat and to appropriately scout the land ahead. My soldiers, however, do not require food nor sleep nor daylight. By this time tomorrow, they will march about 80 miles or so. We will arrive in Numas in about a day and a half. Do you concur, Khant?"

"Uh… Yes, Lord Yak'reb. I think you are correct," said the skull. Khant either zoned out during Lahmizzash's rambling considerations or simply did not have much of a head for numbers. Either way, this marching time was a perfect opportunity to get more information about the current state of affairs in Nehekara.

"So then, how long have you been awake?" asked Lahmizzash.

"I awoke with the others- the other members of the Mortuary Cult. We were amongst the first of all Nehekarans. I clearly remember my first moments. I thought I'd been buried alive and became panicked. But my cries of alarm were answered- others were awake and sealed in the darkness around me. I think we all began grasping to the voices of our comrades like lifelines- proof that we were not trapped alone was a sweet drink in the dark. After we'd all managed to calm one-another, someone managed to break their way out of their own sarcophagus and freed the rest of us."

"So none of you had any idea what was happening?"

"We had no idea. I distinctly remember an exchange between two of our number, as we all shuffled around in the dark like a blind pack of rats. Someone said: 'Are we dead?' and someone responded: 'You don't sound dead.' We all laughed. It seemed terribly funny, at the time. It wasn't until we found the exit and saw each other in daylight that we realized."

"What was that moment like?"

"It is hard to say. I think we all stood around, boiling with our own emotions and revelations. I'm sure someone watching us would just have seen a bunch of fools looking at their own hands and touching themselves and their companions while intermittently gibbering in shock. For some reason, I was fascinated by putting my fingers through the gaps in my wrist bones. And that is how Elder Nekthop and the other elders found us. They put us to work immediately, and the old habits of 'obey the elder cultist' is so ingrained, we set to it."

"Or you all just settled in the ruts of your old lives."

Khant remained silent a moment. "Yes, that might be accurate, Lord Yak'reb."

"I mean no offense. I'm just commenting on a pattern I see- it may apply to all Nehekarans now. When I awoke, I immediately responded to a sense of duty- a call to serve Nehekara. King Settra's call, to be specific. And when I met him, he is clearly acting to assert his authority- for which his rule is famous. King Ubaid was always a rebellious man in my time, and he seems unchanged. Finally, the acolytes of the Cult immediately settle into their subordinate positions under the Cult elders. We are all of us acting like we once did, despite how the world has changed."

"Yes, I think that an excellent observation, Lord Yak'reb. Now that you have pointed it out, that does make sense."

Lahmizzash let that sit on Khant's mind for a few moments. Pellon took a step. The time was ripe to get some valuable information out of the cultist. A direct question, like 'What are the Cult elders doing?' would trigger any sort of habit of secrecy that may be trained into Khant. But the same information may be drawn out indirectly.

"Were the elders as confused as you acolytes?"

"I think so, but they hid it better at the start. They quickly organized us into teams to light up all the crypts, free anyone still trapped, and clear the sands which buried most of the compund, and it is a big compound. A few of us were ordered to seek information from other cities, but most returned and said the city was no longer there. Just sand and ruins. It was only after three weeks that the tomb kings began appearing with their armies."

Lahmizzash considered that. Kings such as himself, suddenly awakening in the darkness all over Nehekara. None with a welcoming party of the Mortuary Cult- they would need to bash their way out of their own graves, dig from their tombs, discover their own condition- all of it likely alone and in the pitch black. A traumatic experience- potentially a psychologically damaging one. Lahmizzash realized he was lucky to have remained asleep, and Nekthop effectively eased him into the new reality as gently as possible. All the same, Lahmizzash had broken down under it all and accidently awakened Pellon, the hierotitan upon which they now traveled. Was it in similar tantrums the first awakened accidently raised entire armies? Then, spotting the only landmark of note in this desolate place, headed for the Great Pyramid of Settra- standing like a beacon for the city of Khemri, heart of the kingdom of Nehekara and central to its power.

"What happened?," asked Lahmizzash, "What did the tomb kings do?"

"Most visited us at the palace of the Mortuary Cult. Some seemed half-mad, but most were simply confused and ignorant, seeking answers to the current situation in the Kingdom. All of them figured, reasonably so, that of anyone the Cult should know what was going on. Our elders answered them with explanations that contained many words but little else. The tomb kings would leave as confused as when they arrived.'

'For a time, they wandered around the city, then seemed to have the idea to claim important buildings- the old legislature, the central vault, the palace, the causeway to King Settra's tomb. The fighting started when two of them wanted the same thing, and the fighting escalated as the stronger kings began subjugating the weaker ones."

"The obvious crisis point for us in the Mortuary Cult was the moment some of the kings decided that the cult's compound and lands were a desirable asset and moved to seize them. We lack both weapons training and dedicated soldiers, so when the forces of one of the kings marched in, we could do nothing but accept it. I forget which king it was, but he went into audience with the elders and rumors floated down that he made extravagant demands and seemed eager to squander what limited resources the Cult possessed."

"Jars?" asked Lahmizzash.

Khant and his staff shook slightly as Pellon took a step. "Yes, the canopic jars and their application. Again, I am unsure, but the common story amongst us acolytes is that the elders agreed to the demands, but instead of following through with them, the entire elder council took what jars they possessed and made their way to King Settra's tomb."

"How did they manage that? With the army all around you?"

"I am unsure. No one is sure. But the elders entered Settra's tomb and completed the ritual of awakening. King Settra awoke, awakened an army, and marched from the pyramid. He battled with anyone who did not kneel before him. Some few joined Settra, and the others were routed. Any opposing kings which were captured… Settra had them killed."

"Killed them? When we are already dead?"

The skull was silent a moment. "I saw it happen to the king who had taken control of the Mortuary compound. He dragged the king out into a stone courtyard and had one of the hierotitans step on him. King Settra ordered it to grind its heel into the stone- there was nothing left of that man when the hierotitan was done."

Lahmizzash remembered the words King Settra used: 'The rest either fled- or stood their ground. And I ground them to dust'. So, the King of Kings was not a figurative speaker. Lahmizzash gazed out over the dunes as Pellon made another giant stride, keeping even with the marching soldiers. "But does that really kill them? Can we die?"

"I don't know, Lord Yak'reb. I hope so. Otherwise those enemies of King Settra live on, but as dust and shards of bone- blown about by the wind."

Lahmizzash tried to imagine what it might be like. To exist as dust, unable to move or speak, but simply think and exist, while feeling the fact that one's body was hopelessly and eternally fractured. It sounded like the exotic punishment of some deep circle of hell- whether it was death or not was irrelevant, it was no desirable fate either way. He eyed Khant, the skull atop the staff. He was most of the way there.

"What do you feel, Khant? Can you still feel your body? Are you aware of it?"

"Last night, I did. I could feel the weight of the stone on it. I could feel the sand, the odd… disconnection of the pieces that flew about when the stone crushed me. But when I was found, I didn't notice it as much when I was talking with the others. Now I feel nothing but this staff in my throat."

"Maybe distance is a factor?" mused Lahmizzash.

"Maybe, or perhaps since the head once contained the mind, we naturally center ourselves in the skull? I assure you, I am as much a mystery to myself as I am to you. Even Elder Nekthop was astonished to find me."

Is that where the soul is, then? The head? Some say the heart. Others say it is an ephemeral thing which does not really dwell in any specific place. But Lahmizzash realized this was all impractical thinking- what mattered was that it was best to try and stay in one piece, and that was no different than how it was when all the Nehekarans were flesh and blood. It was time to return this conversation back to more useful lines.

"Do you know of King Ubaid's awakening? He was awakened by the Cult, was he not? Like me." asked Lahmizzash.

"Yes," said Khant, "I was there, too. Elder Nekthop performed that rite and I was one of the assistants. Ubaid was highly inquisitive. I could tell Elder Nekthop became annoyed with him. Neither have eyes, of course, but I imagined Ubaids would have been darting about and Elder Nekthop's were rolling."

Lahmizzash's mind called up a memory of King Ubaid- a short, fidgety man who did not go far without his honor guard. His eyes did indeed dart about, like a sparrow, always watching for threats and never relaxed; a man devoted to loss-aversion- easily controlled with small carrots and a visible stick. Not a personality that Lahmizzash thought would actually rebel against him, and certainly not against a more imposing figure like King Settra. "What happened? How did he rebel against King Settra?"

"Elder Nekthop showed him how to raise his armies. Once that was done, King Ubaid simply turned and led them into Numas- ignoring King Settra's call. We returned to Khemri alone. King Settra was displeased, to say the least, but we had done exactly as he asked and did not punish us for it."

There it was! Induce the sharing of mundane information for long enough and something really valuable will tumble out. Lahmizzash seized this gem immediately.

"So King Settra gave different orders for my awakening? I was not shown how to raise my own army- I awakened Pellon by accident."

Khant went silent for a long period.

"Khant?" Lahmizzash prodded.

"I uh- am not aware of what orders King Settra gave, but since Elder Nekthop did not show you how to raise your soldiers, I presumed it was at King Settra's command."

It made sense. The army gave Ubaid power- enough to make him feel confident in his own independence, and so Ubaid ignored King Settra's call and set himself up as a rival power. A blunder, a major political blunder. However, Lahmizzash could understand how King Settra could do such a thing. Sometimes, a person accustomed to victory can take it for granted and thus miscalculate some important move; And who was more accustomed to victory than King Settra?

So Lahmizzash was awakened, given a shorter leash, and sent to rectify King Settra's mistake. Judge and sharpen a new tool while rectifying a problem; it was efficient. Lahmizzash's respect for King Settra rose slightly; he may be the tool being used, but that is as it should be. If he were to be used, best to be used by a master craftsman.

"How many soldiers did Ubaid raise?"

"More than you, Lord Yak'reb," said Khant quietly.

"How many more?"

"Maybe twice more. And there is no telling how many he has managed to raise since."

Well… that wasn't good news. Over twice as many soldiers? Lahmizzash won victories as a general, but he was not so confident in his abilities to prevail over those odds. He felt Pellon take another step, which reminded him he had this hierotitan, that should be worth quite a bit. But still, would King Settra just throw him and his forces into the maw of a hopeless battle? He doubted it. But then again, perhaps King Settra was not convinced of him. Perhaps King Settra himself had put on an act, and was now sending a potential rival against another to weaken them both. Was King Settra using him as a tool, or as an arrow? Shot once and not retrieved.


	6. Chapter 6

_((Writers Note: The aforementioned revision is complete. Takir Ackherb is now named Lahmizzash Yak'Reb. You can recruit him through the tech-tree in Warhammer 2: Total War.))_

Or perhaps King Settra himself did not know his own intentions. Perhaps Lahmizzash's performance would determine that decision? Whether he was a rival or no, to be defeated by King Ubaid of Numas would be proof of his incompetence- assuming Lahmizzash managed to survive such an outcome, he doubted King Settra would execute him for failure- he was not known to be that sort of king, but Lahmiazzash would certainly never be trusted with an important task. Likely he would be set to govern some small outpost, and be an administrator for the rest of foreseeable eternity.

Would that be so bad? Would that not be more desirable than wandering about the ruins of his fallen kingdom, forcing the enthralled bodies of his former subjects to battle each other till dismemberment? It would be a peaceful existence of low expectations.

No. Lesser men of lesser dynasties could settle for such a fate, but he was Lahmizzash of Lahmia, former king of Khemri, and could not stomach such an ignoble future. Not that it was outcome that could be relied on, and not that it would be easy to contrive a defeat at the hands of Ubaid that he would survive. No. No. Ubaid must fall, and Lahmizzash must figure a way to bring it about.

If not for his own fate, than for the fate of his loved ones who remained asleep. The ability to awaken them rested with the Mortuary Cult, and they were under the thumb of King Settra. Victory here would bring influence with King Settra, and that was real, tangible, useful power to wield in this destroyed land. King Settra would grant him cultists to perform whatever Lahmizzash might wish them to perform- he would likely think it a cheap cost of upkeep for a loyal vassal king who was proven useful and effective.

But how to gain victory over a force over twice as large as his own? If King Ubaid lacked constructs, like a hierotitan, and only commanded a large amount of foot soldiers, then Lahmizzash thought he might have a chance. But hoping the enemy was ill equipped was a poor way to plan for victory.

"Can you show me how to raise more troops, Khant?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know how you are able to awaken troops, Lord Yak'reb. Elder Nekthop would do that privately with the king."

"But you are able to awaken soldiers, too? Can you show me that process?"

"I could explain the process, but- I mean no offense, the explanation would be full of the jargon of magical rites. It is not something a layman can just do. And mainly, even the most basic of rites would need three acolytes at least. We cannot perform the spells like the true priests can at will."

"I see."

The innocent regret in Khant's voice was enough to convince Lahmizzash that the cultist was telling the truth. He was, after all, a relatively low ranking member of that society. So he was stuck with the number of forces he had now, that much was certain. He would need to rely on strategy to gain victory, and the only real option for a small force against a larger force was to split the larger force into more manageable pieces. A pitched battle against a superior army was a roll of the dice with terrible odds, and while he knew of generals who famously prevailed in such situations, it was certainly not a feat they would have preferred to attempt could they have avoided it.

To plan a divide-and-conquer strategy, Lahmizzash needed information. His tomb did not contain maps of Numas, and even if it had, they would not be relevant to the present state of Nehekara. He had no horses, assuming his soldiers could even still ride them. No chariots. No way to scout the terrain ahead or watch for enemies. He was commanding an inferior force, entering unknown terrain, and he had no idea where the enemy was. The current situation did not bode well for a successful campaign, but there was no helping it. Innovation and intuition would have to win the day.

He still had this heirotitan, and that was a powerful vantage point. He took up his staff and turned to Pellon's impassive visage. "Pellon, bring me up to your head, I want to sit up there a while."

The massive statue obliged, elevating its palm up to its forehead, allowing Lahmizzash to easily walk across and sit in a comfortable position at the tip of the heirotitan's head. Every bit of elevation helped, but so far, he could only see the rolling terrain of sand and stone outcroppings- the terrain becoming more rough and rocky as one headed east from Khemri. If there was anything to see, anything possible for him to see, this would be the point from which Lahmizzash would see it.

Khant was silent, likely taking in the vista just as Lahmizzash was. The silence was an opportunity to review his memory of Ubaid of Numas. The man was not a confident nor powerful figure, but he knew well enough how to command with the authority that had passed to him by birthright. There was no lack of loyalty in his people, as far as Lahmizzash could remember, but he doubted there was any great amount of admiration. Not that such a thing mattered with the current state of the common-folk and their semi-awakened nature.

Lahmizzash cast his mind back- back before his death, back before Nehekara was ruined, back to when all this land was rich with green plants, shining rivers, food and drink and countless content families to enjoy it all:

One year, a ways into Lahmizzash's reign in Khemri, King Ubaid arrived for a feast… or perhaps a hunt? No, it had been a presentation of debutantes. That was it. All the cities were sending girls to the capital. Several eligible young ladies arrived from Numas to attend the grand ball held in the palance, one of those ladies being a niece of King Ubaid himself. It was an innocent enough arrival, though a surprise, and Lahmizzash had thought little of it at the time, since most of his attention was spent avoiding the endless meetings and committees his wife, by tradition, needed to attend. She liked his suggestions and authority close at hand to smooth the process. Makea was herself a keen political mind and a power in her own right, but she liked to play the "let's see if my husband, the King, agrees with me" card any time she could because it worked so well and because he almost always did. So Lahmizzash much preferred making himself scarce.

So it was out in a nondescript tavern in the city that Amtop Yak'erb, his brother's third son, found Lahzmissash, King of Khemri and all of Nehekara, drinking and idling the afternoon away with his personal guard and some other choice old soldiers held in high regard. Maintaining personal relationships with the people was an important aspect of Lahmizzash's rule, but it was still a rather embarrassing thing to be doing when the kingdom's chief intelligence officer showed up with an alarming report: King Ubaid and two of his engineers were inspecting Khemri's walls and gate.

It was not exactly a hostile thing to do, but certainly rude- like finding your houseguests, drinks in hand, idly inspecting your master bedroom during a party. Except in Ubaid's case, it would be a houseguest who was known to be extremely jealous and desirous of your home. Lahmizzash, Amtop, and their guards left their retired comrades to their cups and set off across the city to confront King Ubaid. They found him and his followers just outside the gatehouse, inside which was the lumbrous mechanism that controlled the massive portals through the city walls. A female guard captain was resolutely standing in the doorway of the gatehouse, blocking King Ubaid's party from entering.

"This has been quite long enough!" King Ubaid was saying, as Lahmizzash and his party approached. "You king would not begrudge his guest a review of something so simple as a gatehouse!"

"I apologize, your highness," said the gatehouse captain, "But I cannot allow anyone inside who is not pre-approved by the King of Khemri."

"I'll have you reported for your obstinance, woman! Your lack of respect!" shouted King Ubaid.

"No need for that, King Ubaid," said Lahmizzash, and the little king nearly jumped out of his sandals. That was all Lahmizzash needed to see to gauge Ubaid's intentions here.

"Ah, Lahmizzash. Good you are here." The man's eyes darted about Lahmizzash's escort which was significantly larger than his own. "I'm about to embark upon a renovation of Numas's gates and defenses, and was hoping to take comparative notes from Khemri's."

Lahmizzash did everything he could to keep his pleasant politics smile on his face. Ubaid's pointed omission of Lahmizzash's title was just the sort of off-hand defiance that was something of his calling card. Amtop and their accompanying guards were bristling at Ubaid's lack of respect, Lahmizzash could feel their ire like a tingling on his shoulders.

Lahmizzash stepped forward and put his arm around the flinchy man's shoulders, turning him away from the gatehouse. Ubaid's few guards twitched as Lahmizzash laid hands on their king, and that caused Lahmizzash's guards to twitch- but no weapons were drawn and the tension passed. Lahmizzash walked Ubaid through them all in apparent companionship while saying: "I received word that this evening's presentation is nearly prepared and your niece, the Lady Pella, was lacking her royal uncle's elbow. I'm happy to finally find you. We shall have a chariot return us both to the palace."

"Oh, yes, well we must get back to the palace right away," said Ubaid in a subdued tone.

In short order, King Ubaid was in a chariot, speeding back to the palace with one of Lahmizzash's personal guards as an escort- his followers faced the prospect of a long walk, but some of the city watchmen were gathered up to make sure Ubaid's men made it back without any side trips.

Amtop and Lahmizzash watched them all depart. Amtop talking quietly, lips scarcely moving as was his habit: "It was an overt move to examine our defenses. Do you think Ubaid might be more of a threat than we give him credit for, Uncle Zash?"

Amtop was family, he could use the King's short-name- Lahmizzash had known this fromidible young man since Amtop was soiling himself in his mother's arms. "No," said Lahmizzash, "Ubaid doesn't have the nerve to siege a city, nor the popularity to bring others to his side. I think he is telling the truth in that he is upgrading the defenses of Numas. Building thicker walls is exactly the sort of thing King Ubaid would be interested in."

"If you say so, Uncle Zash. Shall I continue my watch of him."

"Yes, do. And find the name of that gatehouse captain. I want her promoted. Tell my seneschal that I would have lunch with the woman, she will arrange it. That captain may be a keen mind capable of greater things."


	7. Chapter 7

Lahmizzash came out of his memories. Ubaid was afraid to lose, not eager to win. He would do the safest possible thing when confronted by an enemy- he will remain within his defenses and let the enemy break upon his advantageous position. Daring attacks were not within Ubaid's comprehension. While this did not bring Lahmizzash closer to a victorious strategy, it did open up his options: he could be reasonably sure that he could maneuver his forces aggressively in the territory of Numas without risking them being attacked before he himself could attack.

However, it was unclear how Lahmizzash could use that to bring victory for his troops. A battle when outnumbered was one thing, but to be outnumbered while attacking the enemy's prepared defenses? A direct assault was entirely out of the question, and Numas was likely to be protected from every direction. He hoped his assessment of Ubaid was correct, as there was no good reason for his superior army to remain inside a fortification in the face of a much weaker enemy. Unless Ubaid knew that Lahmizzash must assault him? No, Ubaid wouldn't even know Lahmizzash again walked in Nehekara. Or did he? Could King Settra have told Ubaid, set this entire thing up? Manipulate Lahmizzash into feeling the need to assault a defended position with an inferior force? No, that was too many layers, a tangled suspicion on the verge of paranoia. No, it had to be something simpler.

King Settra was either ill-informed or wanted Lahmizzash and his army destroyed. Lahmizzash doubted the former, and the latter was entirely grim. Should he rebel himself? He could join Ubaid, perhaps. Lahmizzash's mind recoiled at that idea. Submit to the power of Ubaid of Nasam, that sneaky rat in a crown? Never! If he were to betray King Settra, he would be on his own- and he lacked the military force to make that a viable option except in the case of simply fleeing the entire region altogether, abandoning his family and loved ones to their sleep- or Settra's inevitable vengeance. No. No. That was impossible. This was a trial of faith, it had to be, and Lahmizzash recognized again that the only path forward was victory. He would have to trust that King Settra had something planned and was not just looking to sacrifice a pawn for some greater strategy.

Lahmizzash gazed across the darkening horizon. There was nothing to see but rolling sand slowly giving way to arid rock. His army would not be in sight of Nasam until sometime after sunrise tomorrow. There would be little to do tonight but keep watch through the darkness. Last night, the night of his awakening, a powerful moon bathed the desert in silver glow, so visibility should be similar tonight as well. He would need to remain vigilant. Ubaid was likely holed up in Nasam, but it would still be irresponsible to march on blindly through the night. Should he send a unit ahead, spread out, as a sort of scouting party, or was his vantage on the hierotitan adequate?

"Lord Lahmizzash… I think I just saw something move," said Khant.

"Where?" Lahmizzash leapt to his feet and scanned the land before them.

"Just off to our left, perhaps 45 degrees, near those natural stones emerging from the sand. I think something just moved behind one."

"Could you tell what it was?"

"No, it was just a motion, a shadow. I don't know what it was."

"Is there any wildlife left?"

"None that we have seen so far, my Lord."

"Well, let's go check it out. Pellon! Advance ahead of the troops to those natural stones on your left, about a half-mild ahead, do you mark them?"

In response, the hierotitan reoriented on the stones and picked up his stride, leaving the marching soldiers behind. Pellon's wide strides made the top of his head a more precarious perch, Lahmizzash sat down to avoid losing his balance. His gaze never wavered from the stones as they approached, growing larger with each of Pellon's steps, but he didn't see any new signs of movement from them. Perhaps Khant has seen a mirage?

The hierotitan was practically on top of the stones now, so Lahmizzash regained his feet and was preparing to look down on the stones from above when a black shadow darted from behind the rocks and scurried for the top of the nearest ridge. In the growing twilight, it was unclear what the thing was, some sort of hunched man, but a long rope appeared to be trailing behind it.

"Pellon, grab that man, but don't crush him! Just catch him in your fist!"

The hierotian increased its speed and oriented on the fleeing figure. Against the speed of the hierotitan, there was no chance of escape. Pellon leaned forward, forcing Lahmizzash to snatch at the hierotitan's ear to hold on. The statue's right fist came down on top of the figure, and it let out a screech of fear and rage, and another as the statue's fingers curled around its body and lifted it into the air. The figure's clothing was dislodged, a hood fell, revealing a long, hairy and whiskered snout.

"A skaven!" said Khant, "Oh my, how exciting! I've never seen one in the flesh before."

Lahmizzash stared at the struggling, squeaking rat-man as Pellon raised his fist to let his passengers consider the new prisoner. Skaven, the rat-people of yore, used to scare children into better behavior. Beasts of rumor from traders and travelers from tribes in the near north, across the strait. Until now, Lahmizzash would have sworn such things did not exist.

"Gods," said Lahmizzash, despite himself. "What do you know of these… folk? Can they speak?"

Before the cultist skull could answer, the skaven shouted out: "I can speak-talk, you dead things! Let me go!" Its voice was at times high, at times a guttural growl, the words, while accented, were understandable. Not only could it talk, it could do so in their language. How that might be was a question for another time.

"Why are you here in Nehekara?" said Lahmizzash.

"Nothing reason! Just walking. Looking at the big sand" said the rat.

"I think he's lying, my Lord," said Khant.

Lahmizzash held down his annoyance. This was not the time for outbursts, and there was never a time for such an obvious observation. He would need to talk to Khant about this, but not now, not in front of their prisoner. He let it pass.

"Where are you walking from? Where are you walking to?" Lahmizzash asked the skaven, who was still struggling to free himself. The rat didn't respond, instead he began to gnaw at Pellon's stone fingers.

"Pellon, squeeze it slowly, and stop squeezing when it squeaks."

The hierotitan's fist began to clench and the skaven squeaked in alarm in short order. "Stop, stop!"

"Answer my questions!" shouted Lahmizzash, "Or do you need to be squeezed harder?"

The skaven abandoned its struggle, instead staring at Lahmizzash with its moist, malevolent eyes. "I from the big rocks. I walking north, to the big water."

The big rocks and the big water? So it came from the mountains, and was going north to the strait. "What is in the big rocks? More of your people?"

"Yes, yes!" hissed the skaven, "The endless fury of Clan Mors is there! They will kill you if you hurt me, dead-thing! They will avenge me!"

"You are that beloved by your nation? This.. Clan Mors?"

"Yes! They need-love me and would avenge my death!"

"Then why did I find you out here, all alone?"

The rat remained silent. Lahmizzash changed tack.

"Where were you running to, just now? Surely you didn't think you could outrun us, so did you have a hiding place in mind? A hole?"

The rat-man fidgeted, but still did not say anything.

"Pellon, I think it is time for another squeeze."

"Wait, wait, dead-thing! Disgusting-thing! I will tell-tell. There is a hole to the underway. The underway filled, lots of rocks. So I came up-up to find new way down-down to keep going to big water."

"Underway? You mean under the ground? You walked from the big rocks all the way here, underground?"

"Yes, underway good. No dead-things like you, easy to walk far-far."

"Do your tunnels connect with the city east of here, between this place and the big rocks?"

"All cities connected to the underway! Clan Mors dig-build everywhere, like all the clans! All day-cities belong to Clan Mors, they just not know-know yet."

King Settra would disagree with that statement, but if the skaven could be believed, the answer to his current military dilemma had just fallen into his lap. Circumvent what defenses may be in Numas, come out inside the city via this 'underway', and secure Ubaid without a pitched battle. They could either snatch him away from his army, or threaten the rebel king with violence and have him order his army to stand down- Lahmizzash was confident the latter was possible. Ubaid responded well to threats.

"Point me to this hole." said Lahmizzash.

In only a few minutes of Pellon walking them around, rat in fist, they discovered the hole that the skaven was speaking of. Whether or not it actually connected to this 'underway' was another matter, but it was worth investigating. But first, they needed to turn around the army, which in all this time, was still marching dutifully to the east. Lahmizzash ordered Pellon to run out ahead of soldiers so he could tell them all to stop. He left them standing in the growing dark of night, but had the company of tomb guard follow him back to the rat's promised hole. Pellon lowered him to the ground and his tomb guard came forward to take possession of the skaven. They gathered together in the darkness near the rat's hole.

The moon was rising, and while it was bright, it was still night. Lahmizzash may be of the walking dead, but his vision had not improved any. "Is there not a way to make fire?" he asked Khant.

Embarrassingly, it was a task he'd never had to perform himself in all his life. Fire was simply readily available wherever he'd ever been. If it was not there, his servants would create it. He glanced around at his tomb guard, sixty dark corpses silently standing in the moonlight, four of them with the skaven creature grasped firmly between them. It did not seem the guards retained such specific knowledge or ability like fire making, or if so, lacked the equipment or initiative to follow his leading question. He was reduced to asking a man without a body about how to make a fire.

"Lift up a stone so I can see it," said Khant.

Lahmizzash did so, and after a few moments, the stone began glowing white, till it illuminated them all like a dim lamp. The shadows the light cast across the faces of his undead tomb guard made them even more gruesome than in the daylight.

"An excellent trick, Khant."

"It is a child's rite- one of the first we are taught. It will last a day, at least."

Lahmizzash cleared a spot in the sand and drew a large square. "Khant, this is Numas. We don't know what it looks like these days, but knowing Ubaid, he will have fortified himself somehow. I'm going to put you in command of the army, and here is what you are going to do…."

Khant's skeletal face could show no emotion, but in the shadows cast by the glowing rock, it sure looked like his mouth was gaping in astonishment at his sudden promotion.


	8. Chapter 8

The underway was not as Lahmizzash imagined. It was no natural cave nor orderly shaft, as he'd seen in mines as a child. No, it was as if some giant thing had carved and bored its way through the earth, leaving haphazard piles of debris in its wake. Lahmizzash and his party picked their way carefully over and around these piles, like piles of feces from some massive worm. He'd brought ten of his tomb guard with him, and four of them maintained a constant hold on their guide, the captured Skaven.

The rat person was amazingly mercurial, vacillating wildly between defiant outrage and sycophantic cowering. This alone made Lahmizzash decide against ever letting the creature act under its own power- it was sure to bolt at a moment's notice. Lahmizzash's own eyes, despite not being really in his head anymore, had no advantages in the dark. Presumably, his soldiers were in the same situation. Lahmizzash did not want to send them in pursuit of a rat person who likely lived in places like this, so the rat would remain a firmly secured prisoner for now. Though it had been quiet for a few miles.

"Are we still going the right way?" asked Lahmizzash, his voice echoing in the blackness. Now that he was committed to this plan, he was starting to doubt it. The parts which before had seemed daring and necessary now seemed entirely foolish, potentially disastrously so.

Dekdek hissed with anxiety. "Quiet, quiet, stupid dead-thing," it whispered, "yes, we are going to the big dead place you want to see. Put out the shiny! We will be seen!"

"What will see us? What are you afraid of?"

"The underlands are big-big! Much bigger than sun-lands above. There are many things here that are not good to meet, not for Dekdek, and not for dead-things. Put it away!"

Lahmizzash didn't quite believe that, but he couldn't see without the stone. He used a part of his clothing to shield the glowing stone and focus the light. No harm in some prudent caution.

The party continued on into the dark, the entrance cave now miles behind. If this skaven was leading them false, Lahmizzash may never find his way out. It was not a comforting thought. He had extra stones that Khant made for him, but they were all made at the same time, so would all wear out around the same time. Wandering an endless dark was not an attractive fate.

Just as Lahmizzash was considering interrogating the skaven again, Dekdek said. "Here, here, turn here, go that way."

Lahmizzash shone his stone in that direction. The light revealed a gap in the underway wall. They advanced towards it, doubts running through Lahmizzash's mind. Was this really it? Or was it just some random passage to keep him satisfied? Or was it a trap? How could he know? He leaned forward to get the light from the stone as far down the passage as he could. He was thinking about menacing the skaven a little more to be sure, but then his eye caught a change in the stone- a shift from the natural to something much more recognizable.

He led his silent party forward, and indeed, the passage quickly transformed from the oddly clawed rock of the larger passage to symmetrical block work and legible hieroglyphs- this was a Nehekaran place. Lahmizzash scanned the walls: 'Here journey in afterlife the loyal cats of Ahep, King of Numas.' This was it! The growing anxiety over his own plan of action deflated in a gush of relief. He and his soldiers were inside Numas and Ubaid had no idea they were there. Of course, Lahmizzash had no idea where he was either, within that city, but… one thing at a time.

And to that end… "Hold the rat here until I send for you." He ordered the four guardsmen holding the rat. He gave one of them a spare glow-stone. "Avoid contact with anything that may be down here."

Dekdek hissed, struggled half-heartedly against the iron grip of his four captors.

"You said I lead you here, I free-go!"

"I said I would not kill you and that deal is done. You are alive. Perhaps we can make another deal, later."

He left the rat fuming in the darkness, leading the other six of his tomb guard through the crypts of Numas' old dynasties. The quality of the stone and of the carvings changed as they made their way through the labyrinth, passing through different eras of Nehekaran history as they went. Old families had deep tombs, but inevitably the surface was always up and to the right.

Lahmizzash noted that all the sarcophagi in this place were still sealed shut. If any kings of Numas had awakened during the initial chaos, that had not come from this family. He entered into a chamber larger than all the ones he had yet passed through. The soft glow of his light stone did not reach all the way into the dark, only slightly illuminating the base of some circular pillars which rose from the floor into the gloom before being lost in the black.

This looks like the grand gallery, so we must be close. The exit must be over-

A clang of metal on stone froze Lahmizzash's mind in its tracks. Then the sound of a waterfall of coins came from another direction in the dark. In a rare show of initiative, the tomb guard stepped forward and formed a protective screen around Lahmizzash, their curved swords at the ready. Even the less aware Nehekarans had realized they were not alone in the dark.

The sound came from the same general direction as the exit was likely to be, so there was nothing to do but advance. He took out the two remaining spare glow-stones and gave them to the flanking soldiers on the right and left. They understood their purpose enough to hold them aloft and illuminate the surrounding darkness. It was indeed a grand hall- gems and coins were littered everywhere, gleaming in the soft light as they made their way through. After the slight sounds of movement which had alerted them, the current silence seemed deeper and more oppressive. Lahmizzash idly wondered if his tomb guard felt anxiety or anything at all- he was certainly feeling edgy. He may be a dead man, guarded by dead men, but the instinctual fear of things that go bump in the night was still with him.

The silence broke with shrill, inhuman screams- bestial, deformed humanoid figures leaped from the shadows on all sides. The gleaming blades of the tomb guard reacted without hesitation, mummified arms dealing out swift and heavy strikes. The attackers fell back with oozing black wounds and screeches of pain and rage, several severed arms lay before Lahmizzash's wall of Nehekaran blades. Dull red eyes glowered at them as the creatures reconsidered their assault.

Lahmizzash knew these things, another beast of childhood fable, but one he knew to be real. Crypt ghouls- disgusting, feral beasts that perhaps were once human beings in some forgotten time. They could get into poorly constructed tombs and wreak havoc on the contents, and menace the family when they attempt to enter for another internment of a loved one. These ghouls had been looting, likely having gotten in the same way Lahmizzash did. They were equipped with improvised cudgels- gilded candlesticks, goblets- one actually had a sword but it was holding it by the blade with intent to strike with the hilt.

Stupid, pointless creatures- only existing to trouble everyone else. He would need to have them eradicated later, but that was not a current priority. He was here to find Ubaid, the rebel king.

"Keep together and keep moving towards the exit, these foes are not our mission."

His tomb guard spread out slightly to form a complete circle around Lahmizzash, and they continued on cautiously. There were half a dozen wounded ghouls hissing and growling at them from the edge of the glow-stone light, and the promise of quite a few more just out of the light- their red eyes bouncing around in the blackness. But the tomb guard seemed to have put fear into them, for they did not seem eager to attack again.

Lahmizzash's party advanced down the grand gallery for a time, keeping eyes on the circling ghouls. Simply by the distance they'd already traveled, Lahmizzash was sure they would reach the door soon- then from before them, another charge of ghouls came, adding another dozen voices to the chaos- the previously stalled ghouls rallied and attacked, too. The weight of dozens of charging ghouls overwhelmed the tomb guard and their formation fell apart- the undead, Nehekaran and feral alike, squirmed and struggled together in the flickering light.

A tomb guard grabbed Lahmizzash by the tunic and pulled him from the thick, using its other hand and sword to cleave a ghoul's head in two, but the blade stuck in the creature's clavicle. Lahmizzash drew his own blade just as two ghouls reached for him with clawing, eager hands. He turned his wrist and sliced upward at the beasts, his blade took off one of their hands- black gore gushing. It didn't deter them, and Lahmizzash fell back under their weight, hitting the stone floor with his back. He used the flat of his blade to keep the gnashing teeth inches away from his glow-stone in his left hand illuminated the beasts at close range- hideous, raging maws gnashing with black teeth.

Another tomb guard appeared above them- the biggest of the lot. It leaned down and gathered a ghoul's neck under each arm, then violently spun away, wrenching the creatures from Lahmizzash and allowing him to regain his feet. By that time he was up, the big tomb guard was already back in the main fight, sword slashing- two headless crypt ghouls were squirming on the ground nearby.

The first tomb guard had freed his blade, and now stood at the ready next to Lahmizzash- but the ghouls were clearly beaten. More than a dozen lay motionless on the floor, and the tomb guard were finishing off the wounded while keeping an eye on the rest of the retreating pack. All six of Lahmizzash's guard were still standing, though he noted some had damaged armor, and two appeared to have fresh cracks in their skulls. If that caused them any issue, Lahmizzash could not tell- they gathered around him in quick order as the last of the ghouls disappeared into the darkness, dully moaning at their defeat.

"Right, good work. Let's get out of here."


	9. Chapter 9

It took all seven of them, Lahmizzash putting his shoulder in along with his guards, to open the stone doors of the tomb. The dull blue light of pre-dawn flowed in as the door opened, just wide enough for them to squeeze through one by one. Lahmizzash took back all the glow stones and returned them to a pouch, hiding their light. He debated on whether to leave the tomb open or not- he didn't want crypt ghouls to spread to other parts of the city. But, that could be handled if it happened… would not an escape route be more desirable? No, retreat was not an option- all that he needed was through victory, and nothing lay in defeat.

Following that optimistic reasoning, Numas was as good as captured, it was King Settra's city now, and it should not be corrupted. "Let's shut the door behind us," he said.

The City of Numas, such as it was, was still a city, or at least the ruin of a city- unlike the sandy wastes of Khemri. The more rocky terrain perhaps yielded less sand to bury it, so there remained walls, statutes, and decrepit buildings in well enough form to be recognizable as the interior of a walled city. Numas' thick walls still towered over the remains of Numas, delaying dawn's light to Lahmizzash and his slinking party. The walls were famously large before King Ubaid upgraded them during his reign, and even in half-ruin, they were imposing. There were even some marks of scaffolding in the dim morning light- King Ubaid had betrayed a powerful ally and was now busily walling himself in, friendless but rich. Ever the fool, was King Ubaid.

Lahmizzash led his tomb guard through through stone-littered alleyways. He didn't dare the streets. Numas supposedly contained an army, and it would only take one soldier to see them and bring the entire plan to ruin- but he needed a place with a vista of the city. The sun was beginning to crest the walls when they reached a tall mausoleum, an elegant tower encircled by stone statues and busts of some forgotten family. More interestingly, it featured a stairway to the sarcophagus at the top of the tower, some 150 feet up. "Buried in the sky" was the style of this tomb, favored by those who believed the sun would sustain them in the sleep of death.

Lahmizzash and his party reached the solarium near the top as the sun was lifting itself clear from the horizon. The reddish color of early morning light was turning yellow-white and blazing hot, the Nehekaran day was here. It revealed the army of King Ubaid in its entirety. Humanoid figures were swarming over the northern walls of the city, like ants upon a disturbed nest. Thousands of skeletal people were busily laying stone into the damaged portions of the walls. At least two miles of wall, most of the northern half of the city defenses, was being worked simultaneously. Yet there were still more skeletons standing at the ready in idle companies in the streets. Khaid was optimistic in his estimate that Ubaid raised twice as many troops as Lahmizzash- or Ubaid had been busy since his awakening. There were four thousand down there.

Any remaining doubt or worry Lahmizzash had about his own plan vanished with the night- the path he was on was certainly the only possible means of victory. The next phase was about to begin. He glanced at his soldiers, the six of them cramped into the small solarium- made to hold at most two or three contemplative relatives. They were crouched, hiding their profiles from any watchers. There was nothing to do now but wait.

They waited silently, baking in the sun, enjoying whatever sustenance the esteemed personage in the sarcophagus was absorbing. If heat were a sensation he still felt, this would be an uncomfortable perch. Lahmizzash found that if he focused on the sun, the glare, and brought back his memories of oppressive summer days- he could start to feel it, feel the itch of his skin that always came just before the sweat oozed out. What was it that Nekthop said, so long ago but also just the other day: '..a great deal of our existence is a construct of our own making'.

Lahmizzash ruminated on that. He knew Nekthop meant that only in the sensual, but it applied to much more than simply eyesight or feeling a hot day. Why was he born to be a king, and these tomb guards to be soldiers, and everyone else to be commoners? Was it fate? Divine right, as the priests would say. Perhaps at first it was fate, when it came to just who would be born from who- but after that point, was not everything thereafter a construct? King Lahmizzash was so because the people willed it to be so, building it upon him, stacking their expectation and their acceptance of his authority like coins for him and his family to spend at will. The ability to spend it, that was what reigning was.

Woe to the ruler who forgets that all of it is really just a construct. If the people stop maintaining that construction, that sanctity of royalty: the belief in the authority of their grand hierarchy… well, it reveals itself to be a child's tower, a precarious stack of blocks- built upon sand, and each grain a person with a mind to suddenly move. Down it tumbles into dust and disarray, dead to an unruly foundation.

And it goes on, beyond also an observation of society, but of one's personal life. Lahmizzash was now seeking to reconstruct his own existence, now that he found himself suddenly thrust back into it all. That is what all people must do, was it not? Construct their lives, or at very least, construct their reality into a pleasing shape- into some facade to keep themselves going?

Well, today his own life would again take shape. It had been buried when the hourglass of his life had finally burst, sending a cascade of sand down upon him- each grain a second of his existence; many well spent, many wasted; but all of them piling up, hiding him from the rest of eternity, secreting him away in his tomb to be dead and forgotten. Well, now he was dug up, and he found himself in an endless pile of sand- an endless pile of moments- as if the hourglass of the universe had split open and all the grains of time were just laying there, ready to be made into something new. Today, his construction would begin.

The steady clatter of distant construction stopped. A muted voice echoed out over the city, someone giving an order- King Ubaid, it must be. Lahmizzash returned his attention to the walls and the land beyond it. A giant had appeared from behind a hill, an ebon, dog-headed humanoid, sparkling in the sunlight- a kingly figure stood atop its head, barely distinguishable in the distance. The army of Numas stopped to stare at this new arrival. And in those brief seconds of total stillness, the giant's eyes glowed with menacing light-

Whuuuuup!

Then erupted in a torrential stream. The beam struck the brick walls of Numas and exploded, sending a rain of stone into the sky. Lahmizzash flinched instinctually. Pellon can do that? Pellon can do that! That would have been nice to know last night!

The dim voice cried out again, shriller this time, and the undead soldiery sprang into action, abandoning tools and running for weapons. King Ubiad was rallying his defenders. Did the fool even place scouts?


End file.
